You're Mine (I'm Yours)
by ShadowSpires
Summary: It's Dick's birthday, and time to go be proper for the Gotham socialites at his big party. Jason has slightly different ideas. JayDick. Prompt Response - #21 - leaving hickeys on the other's neck - for Flarenight
For flarenight.

Thank you for the prompt! Sorry it took so long. And it morphed from being a ficlet. I'm not very good at short. Also, unbeated and I'm sure my tenses are everywhere, but at this point I've been awake for 43 of the last 48 hours and am going to sleep. I'll be properly horrified to post anything this unpolished when I wake up again tomorrow. Edit: And now I'm posting it to AO3 without editing it...sorry guys. Lol, and now I'm posting it to FF without editing. Constructive criticism is always welcome folks!

Jason has him pressed into the wall, tucked around the corner from the ballroom, only steps out of sight from the door. Low strains of music and the murmur of voices trickle through the crack where the door is partially ajar.

Dick had nearly been through it, stepping out into the ballroom as Dick, not Nightwing. That part of him was as much at rest as it ever could be, here in the halls of the manor that had been his second home, his crucible. His guard had been down, and strong hands had grabbed him, and yanked him back down the hall. But he was never _that_ off guard. The manhandling had only been allowed because Jason's scent had hit him just before his body had; crowding him willingly backwards, kevlar and leather against the fine wool of his suit.  
Now the scorching heat of him is pressed against every inch of Dick's front, driving the air out of his lungs with the weight of his body and presence, and the overwhelming smell of sweat and gunpowder that invades Dick's nose the same way Jason'd invaded his presence.

Jason's mouth melded against his, startling soft, just a warm press at first, as his hands unbuttoned and pushed aside the front of his suit, rucking gloved hands up under the starchy pressed lines of his shirt. The supple leather dragged against his skin, catching on scars etched deep, and making Dick arch against it as the firm press of Jason's hands squeezed against his back. those gloved hands settled at the dip at the top of his ass and pressed Dick against him, pulling him further against him.

It was Dick that intensified the kiss, biting sharply at Jason's bottom lip. In response, the bigger man brought his hands up to Dick's shirt collar, pressing his thumbs against the knot of his tie while his fingers tried to slip underneath it at the back, tightening his tie against his throat in a delicious press.

Dick thumped his head back against the wall, panting openmouthed at the sensation, desperately containing a whine that would echo down the hallway and into the Ballroom. Jason licked his way down the little bit of Dick's throat that was exposed from the top of his shirt collar to the underside of his chin, presented so tantalizingly for his perusal. He pressed repetitive kisses against the sensitive spots, not sucking, not biting, just warmth and teasing pressure until Dick was practically writhing against him, and had threaded both hands into his hair to pull him in harder against his neck.

Jason leaned up to whisper "Patience, Big Wing," into the shell of Dick's ear, relishing in the shake and soft, frustrated whine it got him.

Any response Dick was planning cut off when Jason struck, snake-quick, and pinned both his wrists to the wall above his head with on of his own hands. God, Jason loved it when Dick let him take control of this, and the need flashing in Dick's eyes told Jason all he needed to know about how much Dick wanted him. Jason's other hand was tugging Dick's tie to hang lose around his neck. The swift increases and releases of pressure signified Jason unbuttoning the top few buttons of Dick's dress shirt, nosing it aside and latching onto the skin at the junction of neck and shoulder. He buried himself there, where Dick's natural smell was blending with the musk of whatever cologne Richard Grayson had been planning to wear tonight, the lust-sweat beginning to overtake the chemical smell; making him smell more like Jason's than Bruce's.

Rutting against the full length of Dick's body, the hard pressure of his swelling crotch, the lean, powerful muscles, he focuses on nipping and sucking his claim, his brand, into the thin skin of his neck. While one hand continues to hold the older man's hands immobile, the other plays across Dick's lips until he takes them in, sucking on them to muffle the high whine that wants to escape in the face of Jason's swift, merciless attentions.

After minutes, hours, Jason pulls away from Dick's neck, his jaw beginning to ache, but smugly pleased with his handiwork. Dick's neck is lined with purpling bruises, his once neat hair is a wreak, eyes dilated to their fullest, only a thin ring of blue about an abyss of lust and desire. Jason leans into him again, this time going for his lips with a ferocity he had restrained the first time, and Dick met him stroke for stroke, as always.

Another minute and they pulled apart just enough to breath, Jason leaning in so that his entire weight rests on Dick, his forehead pressed against the wall next to Dick's head. Happy Birthday, Dick." He whispers into that flushed ear, and Dick smiles against Jason's own as-yet re-marked neck. But oh, did Dick have plans for that, and every other available inch of Jason's skin.

"Come back upstairs with me Little Wing, and we'll make it" his eyes flicked down towards their matching erections "happy for everyone."

Jason pulled away, oh so very tempted, but…

"Oh no, Dickie Bird, someone is already late to their very own party! Can't keep the socialites of Gotham waiting any longer."

He almost cackled at the pissed look creeping into Dickie's face, and he tightened his grip on Dick's arms just for the flare in blue eyes and to watch that pissed look fade into interest once more as Jason leaned in again to nuzzle at the deepest of his marks, the pained/pleased hiss it got him more than satisfying, as he very deliberately redid the top buttons of Dick's shirt, and re-tightened his tie, making it look like nothing had ever happened, sans the glassy, dilated look in Dick's eyes, the sexy tousle of his hair, and the obviously kiss-stolen lips. Mission accomplished.

"Just remember, if the princess returns home before midnight, she gets a prize." The sudden thrust of his hips against Dick's just before he pulled away both indicated what type of prize he was talking about, and completely derailed his protest that Jason was ruining the fairy tale, and that he was not a princess, thank you very much.

Jason slipped away bat-quick and quite, and while Dick could have followed him, he did have responsibilities tonight. Responsibilities like greeting all the guests, including the husband-desperate young socialites that he now had to undertake visibly ruffled, lips swollen, and sporting an obvious erection that distorted the line of his suit.

Everyone out there will have some idea of what he was doing just minutes prior to walking in. Which was undoubtably Jason's plan. Dick was going to get his revenge though. That was certain. Not only for leaving him hanging, which he was going to extract payment for at the very earliest opportunity that he could find to break away from this party that now seemed interminable. Also for sending him out into public physically and visual claimed, for all the blooming hicks were mostly covered by his suit.

Dick would just have to return the favor the next time Nightwing ran into Red Hood on the streets. And he'd make sure it was a night before Jason was expected at the manor, just to watch that rare blush overtake Jason's face at Bruce's look; whether Jason wore the marks proudly displayed, or tried to pull of a turtleneck, Bruce would give him that look that bordered on Brucie. Their Father was an asshole sometimes. And so was Jason.

That's okay, because Dick was completely capable of matching them. He was going to make Jason _beg_ for release after he caught him tonight.


End file.
